


Joker's Wild

by Oricalle



Series: Luck Of The Draw Universe [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gaslighting, Gen, Monica is 25, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers, alcohol use, as in the characters are their post-skip ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oricalle/pseuds/Oricalle
Summary: With her life in shambles and her prospects dried up, Monica Ochs finds herself drinking her days away.  A chance run-in with a group of outcasts brings her out of the darkness and leads her to question exactly what she's made of and who she is.A Short Sequel to Luck Of The Draw
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Luck Of The Draw Universe [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722349
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	Joker's Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for 2000 Kudos!

Amidst an array of flashing lights, surrounded by heaving, sweaty bodies, and drowned out by relentless sound, Monica Ochs sat alone.

The cup in her hand brushed against her lips as she downed another glass of cider. The bartender had already retrieved the bottle from beneath his station and began shaking it, evidently able to sense that it was a multi-drink kind of night. She could feel the eyes of the nearest patron, a few stools down, giving her a slightly incredulous look.

Whatever. Let him stare, it wasn’t like she gave a damn.

Monica wasn’t the type to enjoy getting very drunk, at least not often. This night club, converted from an abandoned bomb shelter, was called Shambhala, and the whole place felt slightly wrong. The acrid smell of the drinks wrinkled her nose, and she was no fan of the club’s seemingly endless supply of pounding loud dubstep, but in a way, the sensory overload was exactly what she needed. Monica didn’t care to remember anything about the place, but that was alright. She had come to Shambhala to forget.

As the rapid flashing of lights signaled an impending beat drop, she could make out the faint outline of a familiar man pushing his way across the dance floor. She swore under her breath and downed the rest of the cider, because her evening plans had just gotten a lot worse.

“Monica!”

The old man that approached her looked far different from Shambhala’s usual clientele. Even out of his work clothes, Tomas looked stuffy and uptight. Mostly because he was, as she knew, stuffy and uptight. Monica imagined that if the music had been slightly quieter, she would be able to hear his teeth gnashing.

“What is it, Dad?”

Tomas wasn’t her real father. Whoever that had been had left her a long time ago, along with her mother. When she was younger, she’d assumed they died, or been kidnapped, or on her more fanciful days, that they were away on a secret mission and they’d someday return. Now, more familiar with the world and the people in it, she guessed they just didn’t want her. She’d lived outside, alone, for a few months, before the kind man in the lab coat had approached her.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

Well. He was kind then.

“Drinking.” she responded, watching out of the corner of her eye as the bartender poured more cider into her glass. “I could ask you the same. This doesn’t seem like your kind of place, Pops.”

Tomas took a threatening step forward, and Monica inadvertently flinched, splashing a little cider onto her gray skirt.

“Don’t be an idiot, woman.” He snarled, slowly climbing into one of the barstools and running a shaking hand through his chestnut hair. “You’ve heard the rumors. One of the lab techs saw a police van outside of the building today.”

Monica shrugged. It was true that the heat was coming down. Ever since the Hresvelg woman had spilled the dirt on what was going on inside Agartha’s walls, Tomas had been more and more agitated by the thought of being discovered. She hadn’t worked in the building for years, so she wasn’t as adversely affected.

Tomas hastily waved away the bartender, his nails dragging into the countertop. “All of our work could be ruined by that cowardly little fool. We need to be taking the proper precautions, and I expect you to be helping Arundel!”

“The boss hasn’t spoken to me in months. Not since I screwed up at the games store.” The memory of that incident, the way Seteth had taken every bit of intimidation she could muster and spat it back in her face, was one of the biggest reasons she’d been spending more time at the Shambhala bar.

“You should have called him!” Tomas was glancing around with wide eyes, as if Edelgard would pop out of a bottle of champagne and bash him over the head with a hammer. “We need all the help we can get now, no matter how incompetent.”

“I already apologized.” She threw back another gulp of cider, only to have Tomas grip her arm on the way back down. His eyes were steely as he stared at her.

“You would have starved on the street if not for our generosity, Monica. Your failure was embarrassment enough, but now you would shun Agartha in our hour of need?” He shook his head, eyes downcast. “You would disappoint your only family? The only ones who love you?”

A chill dripped its way down Monica’s spine. What was she doing? What kind of a selfish wretch would act this way? Something, though, was stuck in her mind. She’d listened to the interview, the one where Edelgard spilled her guts out to the old woman. Heard the lies she spouted about Agartha, claiming their experiments were “inhumane” or “abusive”. That couldn’t have been the case. Not with her father and Arundel. So why was she hesitating?

Snarling, Tomas lashed out with his other hand, roughly gripping both of her arms and nearly yanking her off of the barstool. “We don’t have time for this. You’re coming with me, and we’re fixing this, now.”

“Hold on!” She hastily tried to regain her balance. “Give me a minute here!”

“Get up, Monica!”

“And what if she doesn’t want to?”

As her father’s gaze locked onto the speaker, hate written on every inch of his face, Monica turned to the other man at the bar.

He was tall and lithe, clearly in his 20’s, like her. Long violet hair framed his angular face, and his eyes were dabbed with a smidge of eyeshadow. He returned Tomas’ stare, evidently not intimidated by the scientist’s scowl.

“She is my daughter, you meddling whelp, and this is none of YOUR business.”

“Daughter or not, you’ve gotta be 21 to come in here. So she’s clearly too old to have to listen to you.” A slow smirk unfurled across the man’s lips. “So why don’t you let go of her arms and talk about it all nice-like. I’ll even mediate, if you want. I’ve heard I’m pretty good with people.”

In defiance, Tomas yanked on Monica’s arms once again, bringing her to a staggering standing position as she tried to steady herself with a hand against the bar. The mysterious man matched it, sliding out of his stool and staring at Tomas. 

“You really don’t wanna do that.” he muttered.

Monica glanced back at Tomas, feeling as if she could see the blood boiling beneath the man’s skin. “Oh,” he began, “I rather think that I-”

Her father’s eyes grew to the size of coasters. Suddenly, he let go of her arms, backpedaling slightly. He glared at her. 

“Remember who you belong with, Monica. We will be waiting for you.”

With that, Tomas turned and began to stomp out of Shambhala, calling to Monica’s mind the image of a lab rat scurrying out of its enclosure.

“Well, damn. I wasn’t sure that would work. Guess I’m even better than I thought.”

As Monica turned back around, she saw the violet-haired man looking quite pleased with his intimidating efforts. She also saw the much larger, much bulkier, much more intimidating man standing behind him, chuckling as he patted his shoulder with a meaty hand.

“Or it was the big guy. Coulda been the big guy.”

They both began to laugh as Monica got back in her stool, straightening out her skirt and trying to return to her glass as if nothing had happened at all. “Thanks.” she mumbled, hoping the man wouldn’t press their conversation any further.

“Not a problem at all. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Well shit.

She slowly turned to the man with a frown, sipping her drink as he extended a hand.

“My name is Yuri. Yuri Leclerc. I’m an investigative reporter for the Gatekeeper.”

“Oh, right. I get it.” Monica growled as she put down her drink with a little more force than was necessary. “You thought if you could be my knight in shining armor, scare away the bad guy, I’d open up my heart and pour everything out for my handsome savior.” She scoffed. “Want me to swoon, buddy?”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” Yuri winked, and Monica rolled her eyes. “But you’ve got me all wrong. That guy was bad news, trust me. I could see it in his eyes.”

“And what, Yuri Leclerc, if I’m bad news too?” Monica grinned, tilting her head as she measured him up. She wasn’t a fighter, but she wagered she could take him, if she had to.

With a shrug, Yuri tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s why I brought my housemate. Balthus?”

“Sup?” The muscular man waved, a smile still present on his face. She couldn’t decide if he was fearless or brainless. Both, of course, were possible.

She chuckled. “You think he could help you if I decided I wanted to knock your lights out? You’re undermanned, newsie.”

Yuri inclined his head towards another figure. “Well, that’s why I brought my other housemate. Hapi knows taekwondo.”

A slender woman was leaning against one of the club’s support pillars, her mop of vibrant red hair falling across her face as she seemed to be nodding off.

“And there’s our fourth housemate, Constance.”

Yuri pointed to a blonde woman at the center of the dance floor, who had just ripped off a blue headband and begun wildly thrashing her hair about as she danced enthusiastically to the music that pumped out of the club’s speakers.

“She, uh, just didn’t want to be alone on a Saturday.” Yuri clicked his tongue and took a sip from his drink, eyeing Monica with a hint of mischief on his lips. “So, Miss Monica, I do believe I’m more than equipped for a simple conversation. Even if the conversee works for the shadiest business in the city, and doesn’t have any qualms about ripping apart any innocent-yet-handsome reporters.”

It was rare that Monica couldn’t scare someone off. She’d sent even the “Flame Emperor” running home with her tail between her legs...once. Was she losing her touch? Was she becoming worthless? A thin layer of nausea worked its way into her gut, and she suddenly felt as if the world had been swept out from beneath her. Perhaps, then, it was those terrible questions that kept her from simply storming out of the club.

“I might be willing to tell you a couple little things.” Monica held up a finger. “If, in return, you tell me a few. See, I know you’re looking into Agartha, and I’ll bet you’ve got us all wrong. So once I’ve cleared the air and made you look like a dickhead, we ought to be square from that unpleasantness earlier.”

This time, she extended a hand, wiggling her orange and purple painted digits in Yuri’s direction. “Do we have a deal?”

The reporter pressed his lips shut and hummed, glancing up at Balthus, who gave him a shrug. The sound he made rose in pitch as Yuri glanced over Monica’s outstretched hand, only ceasing when he clasped it with his own.

“Deal. I think this will be quite the mutually beneficial partnership, Miss Monica.” 

“Great. I’d give you my number, but you’re the reporter, I’m sure you can come and find me.” Monica stood, trying to ignore the way her legs wobbled as she downed the remainder of her drink. “I’m going home now. Later.”

She tried to turn and walk away, and made it a good three steps before the ground wasn’t where she thought it would be and slipped backwards with an undignified yelp. She landed in someone’s well-manicured hands, and silently hoped that when she looked up, she wouldn’t see-

“Smooth, Miss Monica.” Yuri chuckled. “You’re tipsier than you thought, huh?”

Well shit.

As Yuri helped her to her feet, she noticed the quiet woman approaching them. Hapi, if she remembered correctly.

“Everything okay over here?” she asked, her voice airy and monotone.

“I’m just fine.” Monica muttered. She pushed away from Yuri and shook the dust off of her sleeves. “Just...might need to call a cab.”

“You live in an apartment, Monica?” Balthus asked, his hand on his chin.

“I do.” If you could call it that. It was more of a decorated broom closet, but it suited her purposes adequately.

“On a high floor?”

“I...don’t see why it matters, but yeah.”

The big man gestured at her wobbling legs. “You ever play with a Slinkie before?”

She snarled as she worked out what he meant, evidently much to his delight, judging by the belly laughs.

“Why don’t you call a friend to help walk you inside, then?” Yuri asked. His playful tone was gone, and the look on his face told her this was a real question.

“I…” She paused. She wasn’t going to tell them the truth. They weren’t going to pity her. She was the predator, not the prey, the lion, not the lamb, strong, not weak. Never weak. Never, ever weak. “I...don’t want to wake anyone up. Not this late at night, I mean.”

“I’ll walk you.” Hapi added. Her expression told Monica she wasn’t buying the excuse. “Seriously, it’s no trouble.”

“OR!”

The interjection, more of a declaration, came from behind Yuri. The reporter looked shocked as the dancing blonde from earlier pushed him aside. She was drenched in sweat, her hair matted and unkempt, but she managed to perform a perfect curtsey (as far as Monica knew) before she spoke.

“I, Constance Nuvelle, would be pleased to invite you to spend the evening in our guest room. Should that be to your liking, of course.”

Yuri gave her a stare that read with equal parts amusement and “Really?” Balthus shrugged, and Hapi nodded her assent.

“We live just a few doors down. But if you think we’re creepy or whatever, it’s fine, you don’t have to. I still don’t mind walking you home.”

Monica was frozen, her mind racing. She’d been raised to never accept charity, that everyone was out to stab her in the back. It was a kind offer on the surface, sure, but nobody was truly “kind”. They’d probably rob her blind.

But the thought of going home, to that dingy apartment, where she knew Tomas would likely be waiting, and angrier than she’d ever seen him before, was enough to give her pause.

“Fine.” Monica held out an arm, and Hapi ducked under it, supporting her as Yuri slipped under the other arm. “But...take me to the bartender first. I’m going to tell him to expect me to come back in tomorrow. You know, so you weirdos don’t kidnap me or whatever.”

The crisp night air hit Monica’s face like a wall of ice, and she immediately felt herself sobering. It was February, and the town had been caught in the grip of a severe cold front for weeks. For Monica, whose space heater was more of a suggestion than an appliance, it had been a difficult time. The warmth coming from both Yuri and Hapi, though, was a mild salve on the issue.

“I don’t believe we were properly introduced.” Constance walked in front of them, backpedaling down the sidewalk as the group made their way through the city streets. “I am-”

“Constance Nuvelle. You told me.” she replied. Constance looked as if someone had dumped mud on her head.

“But you didn’t reply! What is your name, exactly?” She crossed her arms, and Monica could hear Hapi sigh.

“Monica. Monica Ochs. That’s my name.”

It was. Wasn’t it?

Why, suddenly, did even that feel wrong?

Well, shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Before the usual Super Secret Author's Notes, I'd like to take a moment to address the occasion that made me write this fic. LotD reaching 1000 Kudos was wild, I never thought I'd have a fic climb that high, and especially not one I initially thought was aimed at the precise audience of Pretty Much Just Me. I was in awe when I saw us reach that high.
> 
> So you can imagine how I feel about 2K.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and giving your feedback on the fic. I can only hope that you've gotten some of the same joy out of it that I've had in creating it and getting to read all of your wonderful comments. LotD has amazing fans, and I am so very thankful for everything.
> 
> So naturally I wrote a fic about the character you all hated. This is anticipated to go for 3-4 chapters, though my outline is admittedly pretty malleable at this point. Let's find out how it goes together, shall we?
> 
> Super Secret Author's Notes:
> 
> -Shambhala has no affiliation with Agartha chem. That may seem like a hole in my world-building but lest you forget, I made Nabatea a game store, you should be used to this by now.
> 
> \- Constance dances enthusiastically but poorly.
> 
> -Yuri and Balthus do the "big guy behind me" bit all the time. Loosens people up.
> 
> \- google drive title for this chapter: "*waves cape* for my next trick i try to make people like monica


End file.
